


Rainy London Nights

by Mad_Sheriarty_fan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26440765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Sheriarty_fan/pseuds/Mad_Sheriarty_fan
Summary: Time setting: Before S2 after S1==ANGST WARNING==--NO HAPPY ENDING--
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time setting: Before S2 after S1  
> ==ANGST WARNING==  
> \--NO HAPPY ENDING--

London’s rainy autumn weather had been irritating for Sherlock Holmes. Mrs Hudson had forbidden Sherlock and John to leave the flat for cases, because she knew after a few hours they will come back dripping with rain, mud and probably mud ruining her 6th door mat. 

“Ugh!” Sherlock shouted as he threw the magazine John had been reading across the room on the wall. He had been lying on the couch for two and a half hours starting from eight o’clock in the evenings, when he was sure that he heard the sound of someone leaving the flat.

“Bored!”

“Well, you’re certainly not getting un-bored by chasing criminals until the rain stops young man!” Came Mrs Hudson’s reply from downstairs. Sherlock dragged himself to the window, watching people who got caught in the rain running on the streets. 

“John!” He called, half-expecting that he would compromise to play a game of cluedo with him. “John’s off to his girlfriend’s,” Mrs Hudson said as she came upstairs, worrying for her new wallpaper. “He said he won’t be home until tomorrow. I’m going to bed so don’t you dare start playing the bloody violin again, Sherlock Holmes, or you’ll be sleeping on the streets tonight.” 

“Why was HE allowed out and I’m not?” Queried the detective, his brows tied into a knot. 

“Well he’s much more caring for my walls and carpets than you, and he doesn’t harpoon pigs when he’s out.”

“I-”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock knew he shouldn’t say more, so he only sighed, four rain days in a row and now John wasn’t home. He was planning his escape route already, he plans to leave the flat after Mrs Hudson had gone to sleep and the rain gets smaller. 

***

He regrets his choice. He left Baker Street minutes before midnight, he was heading Scotland Yard’s way, assuming that there would be at least one Inspector on duty. But now he was half a mile away from Baker Street and not one cab could be seen through the thick Soup Fog. The raindrops were growing larger and larger that it felt like hail on the detective’s head. The downpour was turning into an untimely flood by the time Sherlock found shelter. It was under the extended roof of a closed cafe. 

“This really couldn’t get any worse...” He muttered, staring into the dense layer of rain, hoping to catch sight of a cab. He was wet all over, the temperature had been unkind too – Sherlock thought that he would freeze solid. 

Just then, a figure with their coat above their head came running towards the identifiable shelter. Sherlock couldn’t possibly know the figure better. 

It was James Moriarty, his nemesis. 


	2. Chapter 2

There they were, the world’s only consulting detective and the world’s only consulting criminal. Sherlock started reconsidering his speech on coincidence that he had days ago with John, he cursed under his breath as the other man squeezed against him as they fitted under the small dry area. Sherlock considered asking Moriarty what he was doing here in the pouring rain at this untimely hour, but he kept his mouth closed. The rain had washed away all evidences that he could could use to deduce, so he was quite sure that Moriarty couldn’t tell anything either. 

“So John leaves you alllllllll aloneeeeee in your flat didn’t he? Pretty brutal if you ask me.” Mumbled the consulting criminal as he winked. 

Sherlock was shocked, devastated to be exact. The most dangerous man in London, the Napoleon of crime, had just deducted him and winked at him. “Off to his girlfriend’s, I presume.” Moriarty continued. 

“Yes.” Answered Sherlock, he didn’t want to admit that his nemesis had just successfully told the reason of why he was here, hiding under the roof of some random cafe. 

***

After Sherlock couldn’t remember how long of silence, the rain still refused to stop, “I’m not going to wait until the rain’s over. I’m leaving.” Moriarty had put his coat over his head again, stepping out of the shade. The detective nodded, but the criminal didn’t leave yet. He remembered that it was too dark for Moriarty to see his nod. “Okay.” He said instead.   
“What about you?”  
“Not going back to Baker Street.” 

There were minutes of silence, Sherlock assumes that Moriarty was waiting for his chauffeur or someone else to pick him up. “Um..” the criminal started, walking back into the dry shade, squeezing close to the detective, “I don’t say this often, but how about coming over to mine?” Sherlock could sense a smirk on his face even though he couldn’t see anything, he thought that something must have been wrong with his ears for a moment. “Seriously, Moriarty? Inviting your arch-enemy to you evil lair?” He snorted in disbelieve.   
“Mhmmm...”

Sherlock could hear challenge in Moriarty’s tone. A thousand scenarios were played in his mind at once, he prepared his mind for the worst, he couldn’t refuse – it would have been too timid of him if he did. 

Moments later, Sherlock had followed Moriarty into his limo. “Gentlemen first.” Smirked Moriarty as he opened the door for Sherlock who rolled his eyes at such courtesies. It was as cold as the outside as the inside, he stayed as far as he could from Moriarty out of his stubbornness, but the price was the cold that made his bones ache. His shirt had froze into ice, so did his hair. 

“Stubbornness don’t do you good in London’s winters, Sherlock.” Moriarty purred from the other side of the back seats as he turned on the heatings. “What’s that got to do with you?” Sneered the detective through his chattering teeth, giving a rather violent shiver.

“Augh!” Shouted Moriarty as he slumped deeper into his seat. “Must have been a collision. We’re stuck here with plenty of others, it seems... Will take longer than expected...” Sherlock yawned, looking out of the blurred car window. “Gum?” Offered the criminal. Sherlock ignored it. Probably poisoned anyways... His mind said. 

After long, Sherlock woke up to Moriarty’s face, still in the limo. Startled, he sat up immediately, his sleepiness gone in a split second too. “Do you always stare at people when they sleep???” Sighed Sherlock in dismay.   
“No.” Replied the criminal in a flat tone. 

Sherlock suddenly felt something else on him like a blanket – it was Moriarty’s coat. He must have wrapped it on him while he was asleep. “Take this back.” He complained, flushing bright pink. 

Moriarty didn’t. 

*** 

James Moriarty’s home had been more pleasant than Sherlock had expected it to be. The criminal found pajamas for him, it barely fitted him but it had to make do. It was even tighter than his shirts, the buttons were threatening to burst any second. 

Moriarty made tea and paced up to Sherlock with it. The liquid was horrible, but he drank his cup, he thought it would be rude to spit tea in his nemesis’ face. The man sitting on across the coffee table had not been that kind to himself. “This thing is awful did I make this-” He winced, swallowing the tea like swallowing poison, Sherlock tried his best not to laugh, but Moriarty’s expressions were too hard to ignore. Upon hearing the detective’s laugh, he put down the cup and looked else where. There was an awkward minute when no one spoke. 

The criminal suddenly stood up, walking towards Sherlock, who prepared himself for anything Moriarty might do. Drug him? Hit him? He braced himself for the worst. 

To his surprise, none of the scenarios Sherlock had imagined happened. James Moriarty only stood in front of him, staring at him immensely. Sherlock stared back, because he saw challenge in his nemesis’ eyes, it would have been timid of him if he looked away. 

The criminal then made a step, closer, the detective braced himself mentally, he didn’t move, he wanted to see what Moriarty wanted to do, curiosity glued him to where he was. 

James Moriarty sat down, legs open, on his lap.

His brain refused to answer to his commands, he demanded, commanded, even begged it to allow him to stand up and shake the Irishman off his knees. But somewhere inside him a flame started to build up. He assumed that the flame was from his heart, it told him to stay still, to accept whatever the man on his lap want to do with him. Just then, something alarmed him, it was something warm, and hard too. It poked him on his abdomen, Sherlock was stunned for a moment, his brain was untimely blank and unresponsive. 

“Flirting’s overrrrrr….” Moriarty purred in Sherlock’s ears. He continued staring at the black eyes as the criminal stood up fro him and left the room. 

Minutes later, the detective had started to run in the pouring rain once more, it was not as heavy as before but enough to make him soaking wet. In Moriarty’s tight pyjamas. He escaped the criminal’s flat hoping that the events over the last hour won’t have to repeat ever again.


	3. Chapter 3

It was dawn when Sherlock reached Baker Street, Mrs Hudson wasn’t up yet and John was still away. The flat was silent. The first thing he had done was changing out of Moriarty’s pyjamas, throwing it into the washing-machine. Then he started recounting last night’s event. Quite a lot as he had gone through it thoroughly. Sheltering from the rain. Meeting Moriarty. Following him home. Changing into his pyjamas. Allowing the man to sit on his lap. 

It was indeed a lot.

Putting his hands into his coat pocket, as a habit, he felt something that wasn’t there before. It was a note, with scarlet scribbled words on it. 

Tower Bridge, tomorrow evening, its a trick, but I dare you~  
See you there

Sherlock grinned at the note, he knew that the challenge was up, he couldn’t refuse such a sincere invitation – it would have been rude of him. 

***

“Where are you going???” Interrogated John as the detective set out for Tower Bridge as twilight fell  
“No where.” He answered casually, racing down the stairs.   
“I asked. Where are you going?”  
“To see someone.”   
Then Sherlock left in the cab he called. John watched it leaving. His ‘rarely used mind’ has started to avalanche him with theories, each more suspicious than the last. The suspicion and curiosity drove John to follow Sherlock in another cab, he lost it after the sixth crossroad but his brain was working in a speed not even himself knew was capable of. Soon he worked out the location Sherlock wanted to keep anonymous of. 

***

As always, tourists gathers there in packs and groups, making it hard for him to spot Moriarty. He didn’t expect the ‘trick’ to be targeting him only, he expected it to be somewhat of a terrorist attack. 

The traffic had been cut off from the bridge to allow a ship to pass through, most of the tourists assembled at the available docks, camera in their hands to capture the scene when Tower Bridge opens up. Sherlock, however, picked a quite spot on a closed pier closest to the bridge. It was locked but locked doors were never a bother to Sherlock Holmes. Even if he WAS caught trespassing, Lestrade could definitely get him out of whatever trouble he gets into. 

The enormous cruise passed from the opening bridge, everything seemed fine with no signs of bombs, terrorists or panicking crowds. The detective started to doubt if he had mistaken Moriarty this time. What was the challenge, then, if there’s nothing at all, just an ordinary bridge lift? Just as Sherlock made up hypothesises and deduced the possible answers, a blinding explosion shook him. A deafening boom came along simultaneously. He could hear people staring to scream at some distance away. 

“Magnificent, isn’t it? Brutal yet beautiful.” Whispered a recognisable voice into Sherlock’s ears. Moriarty must have crept up behind Sherlock while he was appalled by the explosion. 

“People… have.. died, Moriarty.” Muttered the detective, not moving an inch while the criminal clamped himself to him. “Mhmmm...” He hummed, looking at the burning vessel on the river. 

“Sherlock.” Moriarty said suddenly his voice filled with confidence and determination as, forcing the taller man to face him. “I don’t want to be the Napoleon of crime to you anymore, I would like our relationship to start from the beginning again. But not as detective and criminal, or friends either. I want you to know Jim, not Moriarty. Just Jim. Sherlock Holmes, I love you.” 

Sherlock’s mind had gone completely blank that moment. He couldn’t tell what emotions stirred his great brain. Gladness? Embarrassment? Fear? He stared at the shorter man in front of him, who had a smile on his face, and something else that glues Sherlock’s sight to the pretty face. He hauled Moriarty towards him and felt the warmth spreading in him. 

Suddenly, footsteps approached their direction, though neither of them bothered to move. “SHERLOCK!” Cried John’s voice, immediately followed by the sound of a bullet leaving its chamber of the revolver. The detective regretted not looking back, but it was too late. He only remember pushing the man on his chest to the ground as pain struck his arm like a thunderbolt. His right arm had been penetrated by John’s bullet. “I’m so sorry...” Sherlock murmured before he lost conscious.


	4. Chapter 4

“W- where am I..?” Asks Sherlock, he woke to the aseptic smell of hospitals. Remembering his last memory, he immediately sat up, but the sharp pain in his arm put him back onto the pillowed sickbed.

Moriarty.

Moriarty.

Moriarty.

Echoes the detective’s aching head. His mind was occupied by one name.

Moriarty.

“Sherlock?” Came John’s voice as the door of the ward he been pushed open. “Thank goodness you’re fine. Mrs Holmes had been worried, so was Mycroft. You’ve been out for almost a day now. Molly sent you a ‘get well soon’ card, even Anderson came to pay you a visit...”

Sherlock barely heard a word. His ears refused to send anything into his brain. Last night’s events were piling up in mountains as data waiting for processing.

***

_Five days later_

Under the stubborn detective’s ‘menacing’ threats, the doctors allowed him out of hospital. He immediately took on a new case, a chemistry student was killed by what was suspected to be some rare compounds. He spent all day in his lab comparing the compound with the world’s most toxic and rare poison. The night had feel but there was absolutely no result whatsoever. Molly Hooper knew something was wrong. Sherlock was normally extremely productive even at the worst of times.

“Sherlock?” She asked, gathering every bit of courage she had in her, “I- I want to ask you what happened. You look really distracted today.”

“Hm?” Stammered the man, he thought is was just bad luck with the compound. “Oh, nothing. Bad luck today Molly. That’s all.”

 _Why..._ Sherlock demanded himself. Actually, he knew exactly why. But thinking about that answer feels like being pierced at the heart. Painful. So he neglected it from his mind. Nevertheless, after minutes, he discovered that he can’t.

***

He reached Baker Street in twenty minutes. Moriarty’s pyjama was still folded neatly in his closet. He wishes that he could pick up the courage to see the criminal and return the clothing. He held the pyjama in his arms, remembering that night’s embrace again. Upon that, he immediately stood up, calling a cab to Moriarty’s flat.

***

“Moriarty?” He inquired outside the room where his nemesis inhabits.

“Leave.” Answered a cold voice from behind the door.

“I’ve came to return your pyjama.”

“I don’t want it. Keep it or throw it if you want.”

“I want to talk, Moriarty.”

“And why is that!?” Roared the criminal on the other side. “I’m sure I wouldn’t want to meet you again. Or did you just came back to mock the man you rejected?”

_Rejected?_ Sherlock’s heart sank. Moriarty thought the apologize he said before he lost conscious was to his confession.

“After you said.. that,” whispered the detective, trembling against the door, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I don’t want to be a rival, or a detective to you, I want to know more about Jim, not Moriarty, just Jim. I just realized that’s the only thing which will never change. The meanings of these feelings are still not completely clear to me, but I guess that’s love.”

Still no respond.

_I knew it…_

_He’s not… going to answer…_

Sherlock turned away, ready to forget everything Moriarty had gave him:

Happiness

Content

Gladness

Love

Suddenly, the door behind him was flung open by considerable force, arms wrapped around Sherlock’s waist as he was about to leave the corridors. “Don’t.. leave.. please, Sherlock…” Whispered Moriarty as the detective turned him around so he could bury his face into his warm chest. “Shhh... I’ll always be here.. I’ll always be here for you…”

Moriarty looked up at Sherlock, his eyes were red and swollen from crying, the sight hurt him, it felt like being his by hundreds of bullets at his heart all at once. He lift him up into his arms and carried him into the flat as their lips connected.

The detective tossed the criminal onto the bed, he knew exactly where it was, it was second time had been here.

God, he needed him now.

The detective greedily searched the criminal’s mouth. Their teeth almost clashing together from the intensity.

Sherlock pulled away, he sank his teeth and sucked at Jim’s pale throat being sure to mark him with soon to be dark purple little spots. He was claiming him.

Moriarty was his.

“Ah, Sherlock,” James spoke in quiet gasps and mewls. He was going to have to beg, the Irishman couldn’t wait any longer.

"Sherlock, take me. Please. Take me now.“ He was so hard. Barely forming sentences as the taller man attacked his skin.

Holmes grinned and nodded against his skin. He placed James down on the bed allowing him a moment to strip out of his pants.

Jim worked quick to strip Sherlock of his bottoms, too. He kissed the detective being lifted once again and slammed once more into the wall. The sound Moriarty made was music to Sherlock’s ears.

At this moment, Moriarty could feel his ass being prodded by Sherlock’s hard on. The tip moist with precum smearing along his cheeks.

Jim’s own member pressing against Sherlock’s stomach. The taller man took it into his grasp. He spread Moriarty’s precum around.

James took a sharp breath in, he groaned softly. “You’re such a tease.”

Sherlock smirked and began to pump the other man. Short gasps and a new loud moan bubbled up from Jim’s throat. The man’s skin burning in sensitive pleasure.

He gasped his lover’s name. This only fueled Sherlock more. He kissed James roughly and jerked him faster.

He gave Moriarty his finger to suck on. He happily obliged sucking greedily. His grip on Holmes’ neck loosening, humming as he sucked the finger.

Sherlock pulled his finger out quickly with a pop. It was coated in saliva when he slipped it into Moriarty’s tight hole. The other man closed his eyes tightly and moaned.

"Ah, haahh yesss,“ he gasped hissed as the finger was pumped in and out of him. Working to stretch and lubricate his anal cavity.

Sherlock pulled his finger out making Jim whine slightly.

“I will have you, Moriarty. I will take you hard. I will make you howl my name as I fuck out whatever is left of your sanity. You will cum for me. Only. For. Me.”

He entered him. James scrunched his eyes closed, a moan slipping through his dry lips. Oh, the stretching hurt, but Jim liked the pain.

The pace started gentle, giving Moriarty time to adjust. As soon as Jim started gasping and groaning and begging him to go faster. To go deeper.

And thats what he got. Moriarty’s moans louder then before, his breathing quick and matching Sherlock’s thrusts. He holds on for dear life groaning and gasping in ultimate pleasure. 

“I’ve~ got~ you~” Hummed Sherlock into Jim’s ear, biting it a little and hearing the Irishman gasp. “Ahhh- n.. no.. ahh.. you ah haven’t...” 

The detective thrusts deeper into Moriarty, a moan escaped both of their throats. “What about now?”   
“I- ah- I- yess- yes... Sherly..” The criminal’s words were broken and barely formed, he yielded to his lover, the only man in the world that will make him weak, his only weakness...


End file.
